Those Three Effing Words
by Princess Persephone
Summary: 2x08 revisited: What if the end of Pret-A-Poor-J had ended differently? What if our favorite couple had actually said those three effing words to each other?
1. Rooftop Redo

**A/N:** Hey all! So... my new obsession is Gossip Girl. No, seriously, this last week I've watched the whole first season. And I had to write this three-part fic because I was so disappointed and disgusted with the ending of Pret-A-Poor-J (from the French: prêt-à-porter, which means "ready to wear." I totally had to look this up :) I love it when I get GG titles, but this one went over my head! and I take French! haha!) So, yes this is a 3 parter, basically a redo of a few ending scenes from 2x08: Blair and Chuck on the roof, Chuck and Dan in the stairwell, and Blair and Chuck in Blair's bedroom. A lot of dialog is taken from the show, but don't worry, I do improvise :) Actually, the differences will most likely get broader as the chapters are added. So, yes this first chapter does end like the scene in the show, but I did add a little extra: a lot of the characters feelings and motives behind words and actions are more revealed. And I thought it would be interesting for C and B to talk about Vanessa...spice it up a bit. :) I hope you enjoy! (know that I write this around classes and homework and that college is hard! so it might be a few days till chapter two is up) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or her characters.

* * *

Chapter One: Rooftop Redo

* * *

_We'd be so less fragile  
If we're made from metal  
And our hearts from iron  
And our minds from steel  
And if we built an armor  
For our tender bodies  
Could we love each other  
Would we stop to feel_

--"Three Wishes" by The Pierces

* * *

Blair had sort of been only halfway kidding when she'd told Serena that she'd jump off the roof if Chuck didn't say those three words back to her.

When she'd asked him to say them at the White Party, after spending the summer without him in Tuscany, after she'd come back and discovered he was ready to chase her again, and he hadn't been able to get farther than "I…"—when that had happened, Blair had felt bad enough. She'd wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there till graduation. But if he didn't say them _now_, after _she_ said them first…if his reply was a smirk, or a laugh, or an "I know," or nothing at all… it would be intolerable. Blair had wanted to die after the White Party. If the second situation happened—

It was best not to think of it, really.

And now here she was, standing on a rooftop—albeit, one in Brooklyn, which Chuck had already scathingly pointed out—heart-a-racing, sweaty-palmed, and dry-mouthed. It sounded more like a disease than love.

"Don't you have something you want to say to me?" Chuck asked, his eyes fixed on her face.

"Yes," she replied quickly, her smile a little forced.

She wasn't sure if it was just wishful thinking, but he sounded eager—and yet slightly bored at the same time, in a way that was pure Chuck, as if he couldn't care less why she'd asked him to meet her on top of Dan Humphrey's dad's art gallery in Brooklyn of all places.

Why had she picked the roof of Dan Humphrey's dad's art gallery in Brooklyn of all places? It was hardly that romantic. And why had she decided to cave to Chuck's rules?

Blair tried to make her gulp inconspicuous. Oh God. Those butterflies were making her nauseous. Yes, she had butterflies. And she couldn't help but remember another night, a different night on a rooftop balcony, and another set of butterflies. He had been right: she did feel surprised and ashamed. Ashamed in that she was so scared about those butterflies and what they meant, and how to tell him. And surprised…well, Blair was still slightly dizzy over the whole thing. How had it happened so fast? One minute she hated him, the next they were in bed, then sneaking around, then each denying the other, then playing cat and mouse…how had it progressed to the emotion poets wrote about ad nauseam?

She remembered Dan's surprise when he'd read the answer on her face.

"Wow. Someone loves Chuck Bass."

Just thinking the words made her heart beat faster.

Oh God, and now those butterflies were fluttering around her stomach so fast she felt like she was on a roller coaster. Or maybe it was from the martini she'd downed before leaving the house…

Whatever the cause, Blair was nervous. More nervous than she'd ever been in her life. More nervous than when she'd waited for Nate in her underwear (only to learn he'd cheated on her with Serena). More nervous than when she'd waited for _Chuck_ in her underwear (only to learn he wanted more than just sex). More nervous than—

Oh, just say it, Blair!

She swallowed and opened her mouth.

"I…"

The words caught in her throat. She needed a drink. Ugh, and stupid Dan Humphrey had never brought her one. He'd hung around the café while she was going out of her mind with nerves and then stopped her in the hallway on her way up—with no drink in hand! If he was going to give her bad advice—contrary to everything else he'd said so far—he could have at least had the decency to ply her with liquor first. Her nerves were already shot to hell.

Dan's "advice" floated back to her, and the two remaining words that belonged to Chuck were no longer just stuck, but permanently lodged in her throat.

"Make sure he's done playing games," Dan had said.

Oh God. Was he?

She had been ready to play, before, when she'd thought it was a game: prêt-à-porter; ready to wear him down, that is. And when that hadn't exactly been the best strategy, she'd changed tactics. And in changing tactics, she didn't want it to be a game anymore. She was ready to admit it, and she wanted it to be real—it had to be real.

It had all seemed so simple before! Take a risk. Risk your pride. Risk it all. And maybe (hopefully) gain everything. Everything she wanted. All she'd ever wanted.

Blair Waldorf had never been a huge risk-taker. Plan it out. Organize. Details. Plan the party, order the flowers, napkins, cutlery, candles, food, entertainment, decorations, booze. Plan your outfit. Shave it, wax it, diet, suck it in, curl it, accessorize it, powder it, hold still, youlookbeautiful. You look perfect. Get the best of everything.

Chuck _was_ the best of everything…

But she'd been willing! So when she'd decided to risk it all, Blair hadn't counted on a last minute "be careful!" from Cabbage Patch. How could she be careful and risk it all at the same time?

Bad advice? He was the worst confidant in the world! What had she been thinking? Dan Humphrey?!

"This is so silly," she finally managed. "What does it matter who says it first? Why don't we just say it together?"

Chuck's eyes jerked up from her lips and focused on her eyes. "Because that wasn't the deal."

Blair felt her heart shudder. Dan's words were echoing so loudly in her ears she could barely focus.

"Why does everything have to be a deal?" she asked softly. Why couldn't this be real? Be…honest. She felt slightly strange thinking the word. But, undeniably, it fit.

Chuck leaned against the railing. "Because we made it one."

"We?" Blair's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure? Because from what I remember, _you_ were the one who decided to make it a deal." She paused to gauge his reaction, though half the time that was an impossible feat anyway. "Maybe you forgot. We were on my bed. You were on top. And the rules were that I'd only get you if I said—"

"Yes," Chuck broke in, his hard voice inconsistent with his languid posture. "But you were the one who offered yourself in the first place, if I took care of Vanessa." He smirked. "And how could I turn an offer like that down?"

"You never even won that bet," Blair snapped angrily. "And you didn't even accept my offer. You just made it your own game—"

"I merely raised the stakes, Waldorf. It's not my fault if you're incapable of playing by the rules." He eyes glowed with some primal satisfaction. "And if memory serves, your exact words were 'I lost. You won.'"

"You did _not_ win," Blair fumed. "You just moped around your stupid house-warming party slobbering all over Vanessa. _I_ was the one who got rid of her—"

"Because you wanted me," he broke in, pushing away from the roof railing. His hand grasped her arm suddenly, just above the elbow. "Admit it. And you want me now, too. Why else would you be doing the chasing?"

Blair met his penetrating gaze and refused to open her mouth with an answer. She would never admit that. Out loud. Without knowing how they really stood with each other. But she was afraid he could read her like a book.

"Vanessa may have been humiliated," she continued, as if he hadn't interrupted, "but you never seduced her."

Chuck didn't blink. "Are you sure of that?" he asked in a deathly quiet whisper. "I did keep you waiting. Where do you think I was for so long?"

Blair felt the furious blush bloom over her skin, angry and red. She could almost see red. But she didn't break her stare from his. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to her.

Him and Vanessa?! The thought left a vile taste in her mouth. He expected her to believe that he'd seduced Vanessa after she'd told him he'd won? After he'd been chasing her since the first time they'd fucked in the back of his limo and she finally told him she might possibly be interested? He expected her to believe he'd seduced Vanessa while she was _waiting for him upstairs?!_ He expected her to believe that?!

She didn't believe him. She _couldn't_ believe him without throwing him off the roof.

The city below them glowed and honked and moved as if nothing was going on, as if one of the most important conversations of her life wasn't happening right now. What did New York care for Blair Waldorf?

What did anyone care?

…what did he care?

This night was _so_ not going according to plan.

Blair gritted her teeth and tried to play numb, as if tears weren't threatening to well up in her eyes, as if the anger she felt wasn't making her tremble. As if her heart wasn't breaking.

"I always thought you were low, Bass, but not _that_ low," she finally managed. She wasn't even sure if she was referring to his supposed sleeping with Vanessa or the fact that he'd even claimed to in the first place. "A year ago she wouldn't have been worthy enough to lick your squash shoes." She tilted her chin up, wanting to appear cool and condescending, not knowing that he could read the anger in the pouty sneer of her red lips. "I mean, Vanessa? A little nobody from Brooklyn? Dan Humphrey's scraggily activist friend?"

"You sound like a jealous girlfriend," Chuck said.

Blair froze, remembering the night of her seventeenth birthday. The night she'd said something similar to _him_…and he'd ended up having her for the second time. She could tell he was remembering that night, too, from the hot, dark look in his eyes. Blair didn't trust herself to say anything. If she opened her mouth it would just go from bad to worse.

But apparently Chuck could manage to do that all on his own.

"Vanessa's not as bad as you think."

Blair took an involuntary step back. "What?"

Chuck shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture that spoke volumes about how uncharacteristically he was trying to put uncharacteristic emotions into words.

"She…" he trailed off, frustrated. "At least she admits when she's wrong."

Blair felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach (not that she ever had been… although Serena had bruised her up pretty badly in a field hockey game once…). She felt like she'd been walking around in the dark, eyes adjusted and seeing perfectly well, and someone had flipped a switch and blinded her with light. She couldn't believe it.

"Are you kidding me?" She let out a strangled laugh. How could she have been so stupid?! But it all made sense now: his rushing over to that Brooklyn mouse the moment she entered his house—even though he'd been talking to Blair; the hand holding Blair had spied on; the strange look in his eye when he'd entered her bedroom; hell, even the fact that he'd invited Vanessa to his parents' housewarming at all should have tipped her off.

Fucking She-Cabbage Patch.

"My God, you really slept with her." She didn't want it to be true.

Ugh, and he had _kept her waiting_ while he _did_ it! What a Basstard!

"I thought you wanted me too," he replied, mask in place, stoic as all get out. As fucking always.

"Of course I didn't!" she cried, angrily. "I never did! I don't! I—"

"You don't?" he interrupted quickly. His eyes bored into hers. Blair choked down a sob, but a tear escaped nonetheless.

That tear held the world. Their words paused as she felt it slide down her face. Something in Chuck seemed to deflate as he watched it travel down her cheek.

He squeezed her arm gently. "I didn't sleep with Vanessa," he admitted softly. Then he sighed, dropping her arm and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. "Blair, what's going on? I thought you had something to _say _to me." His nostrils flared and his eyes took on an intense look. "Say it."

But Blair wasn't about to follow his orders. Who did he think he was? And what did he mean by leading her on like that? "I didn't sleep with Vanessa" her ass. Trying to make her jealous? Well it fucking worked, but she wasn't about to admit it. And why the hell was he telling her to "say it"? He couldn't even say it himself, not even when he asked _her_ to.

"Why do I have to be the one to go first?" she asked angrily.

She was always first.

She kissed him first.

She broke up their whatever-thing first.

(…he was her first…)

"I was the one who waited on the helipad for you. I went to Tuscany alone!"

"That's ancient history."

"Ancient history?!" she cried. "It just happened! The summer hasn't died yet, Chuck."

"I already apologized for that," he bit out. "I told you that letting you fly off alone was a mistake."

Their eyes clashed. They both remembered. They remembered the vulnerability of that moment. The fragile, unstable ground they'd been on when Chuck had voiced his honest apology for leaving her waiting.

He just hadn't understood that there was no need to be scared. She already saw him. She knew him. Just like he knew her. They were the same. They were the same from her signature headband to his signature scarf. From those effing contagious butterflies.

Sometimes, though, they were both too stubborn to admit it.

"_I_ was the one who asked _you _to say it first."

"At the white party?" Chuck asked, his voice rising, his temper getting the best of him. "When you were on your way out with the count?"

She had asked him to give her a reason to stay. Apparently neither of them wanting her to leave hadn't been enough.

"Did you really think I was going to say it then?"

"Yes!" she cried. She might as well confess. God knew she meant it. "And when you didn't I wanted to die."

"Don't tell me you brought me all the way to Brooklyn for this. I thought you were ready to tell me how you felt." Chuck scowled, his eyes dark with anger, his body tense with disappointment. "Obviously it was just another one of your games."

"One of _my_ games?" Blair was furious. This was one of his games! And normally, she liked playing with him. She admitted it, he was fun to play with—they really were the same, just like he'd always said. It had been fun, especially when he chased her no matter how many times she said no. A girl loves being wanted, being the object of someone's affection, even if that someone is Chuck Bass…or perhaps especially if that someone is Chuck Bass… All those seductive looks and leering smirks and knowing eyes… When he'd agreed to go after Vanessa just because she'd asked him to, Blair had felt powerful. In control. But when he'd given her that sweet, lover-like kiss on her jaw line, between her cheek and her neck… God knew her heart had softened—so much so as to find her the very next night in lingerie, waiting for him in her room.

This was _his_ game. Maybe she had encouraged it by saying no, or by offering herself if he took care of Vanessa, but he was the one who'd refused to settle and raised the stakes. This was his game now. And if she said it, he won. And if he won, she'd just be another girl to him. Another faceless, hot body with no name, no personality, no memory. And Blair didn't want to be that with Chuck. She wanted him to want her. She wanted them to be together.

_She_ hadn't been playing a game when she'd asked him at the white party. She hadn't been trying to manipulate him or pull strings from the sidelines. She had wanted it to be real.

She had thought this time it would be real. He'd asked this time. But it was just a game to Chuck, too.

"You're the one who started this!" she finally managed

"And you're the one who's finished it." Chuck turned away, and Blair couldn't really blame him. She couldn't look at him, so it was fitting that he couldn't look at her.

Why was she still standing there? Don't be pathetic, she told herself. Just leave.

So she did.

Alone.


	2. Stairway Scene Take Two

Chapter Two: Stairway Scene, Take Two

* * *

_But still I have to wonder why _

_You can't come to tell me I'm the one_

--"The One" by Vanessa Carlton

* * *

Chuck Bass was disappointed—which was saying something, since he usually didn't allow himself to care enough about anything to feel one way or the other about it.

But how he felt about Blair Waldorf didn't comply with his usual tendencies.

Hell, it didn't comply with anything.

A few weeks ago all he'd wanted was a one night stand with her—or so he'd told himself. Just to get the mechanics working. It was embarrassing as hell not being able to get her out of his head even when he was with another girl. Just one more time, he'd thought, and that would do the trick. And then, after she decided she'd rather have Marcus, and that kissing in the dark, behind closed doors, was all he would ever get, Chuck realized he had to stop trying to forget about her—because forgetting about Blair Waldorf was impossible.

She was all he'd ever wanted.

When he'd issued the challenge on her bed, while he was on top of her, touching her, he'd hoped she'd just say it. Three words. Eight letters. He should have known she'd refuse. Throwing her own trick back in her face wasn't the best way to get what he wanted. He knew he'd been foolish to hope. He knew that he had just thrown away, with both hands, what she'd been willing to give.

But was it so wrong to want more than just sex?

If any girl other than Blair had asked him that question, he would have answered with an emphatic "yes" and shown her the door.

And apparently when he asked it of Blair, she used the same answer and he showed himself to the door.

He knew, somewhere, Fate was laughing at him.

Blair's clumsy attempts to "chase" him had been amusing at first—until she'd acted in desperation and ruined his pants. He really had thought she'd be more creative than that. He hated seeing a poor job done by someone he hadn't considered an amateur. Or perhaps he'd chased her so long, he'd gotten used to his role. Blair ran, he followed, she frowned, he smirked, she glared, he kissed, she turned her face away, he breathed in the scent of her hair, she trembled in his arms, he trembled in his soul.

Chuck hadn't expected to forget his own rules when she'd set up that scene in Serena's bedroom. It was classic B: candles, lingerie, and snarky denial. Was it his fault it made him so hot? And her neck… She knew he couldn't resist her, not when she was in full form. Thank God Serena had texted her. And he'd seen what Blair had texted before.

EZ, was he? Not anymore, thanks to her.

He'd thought she'd given up. Blair had done everything in her book short of ignoring him: denial, cutesy friendship with ulterior motives, petty comebacks, and her regular candlelight act. He hadn't thought she'd play by his rules and admit what she really felt.

So when Blair had texted him that she had something to say, and that he should meet her on the roof, inwardly he'd been ecstatic. Chuck felt like everything—his pushing her into Nate's arms at cotillion, his mistaken (and revenge-fueled) tip-off to Gossip Girl about Blair's reckless sleeping habits, their dance at his dad's wedding, his abandonment of her in Tuscany, her shoving that stupid count in his face—everything led to the moment on the roof. They would finally admit the truth. Because he fully intended to say it back once she did.

He just couldn't say it first.

He had tried, when she'd asked him for a reason to stay at the white party. He'd gotten as far as "I…" Hell, he'd even said it twice. But the words just wouldn't come out.

Chuck Bass wasn't a risk taker: he planned and schemed and pulled strings behind the scenes to see a beautifully orchestrated plot unfold onstage before society's gossiping audience. How could he risk it all without knowing how she felt? The pressure had been incredible. Say it or I walk away. This is your one chance.

Well, he'd decided to make his own chance.

So he'd been ecstatic—which had lasted as long as her first forced smile.

He'd been intent—until she'd dragged up Vanessa.

He'd been hopeful—until she'd asked why she had to go first.

The delicately balanced shards of his heart had shattered all over again the moment she mentioned Tuscany.

Would he never live that down? He was sorry. He'd apologized. He'd suffered as much as she had. Perhaps more, because he knew the reason he'd stayed away all those months: he was scared shitless. Like his father had said, having a girlfriend would force him to learn responsibility, sacrifice, and faithfulness. He'd have to take into account her feelings. The partying and women would be over.

Hell, they already were, really. And he and Blair weren't even together. Mother Chucking Basstard couldn't even get it up unless the girl was brunette, cherry-lipped, and smelled like Dior. He couldn't do it unless her name started with a B and ended with a lairwaldorf.

So, he was being faithful, had sacrificed everything that gave him pleasure except his scotch and his scarf, and was more responsible than he'd been in seventh grade: he'd just gotten an A on his fucking calculus test. And as to taking her feelings into account, wasn't that what he'd done when he'd raised the stakes on her bed? He knew she wanted him, and he knew she cared about him—why else had she asked him to say those three words at the white party?

Jesus, what had been the point of not going to Tuscany? Everything he'd been afraid of had happened anyway. And sure, he felt different, but Chuck couldn't help thinking that if he and Blair were together, then it would be better than everything else. It would be worth it.

And now he was disappointed.

Of course she couldn't say it. Of course she was tired of going first. Of course she didn't love him…

No one did.

He should have known.

Blair left, crying from the rooftop, and he felt like crying along with her. But Chuck Bass never cried. Chuck Bass didn't feel anything. Chuck Bass…was a total screw up. Why did it never turn out okay in the end? Why couldn't they get it right, for once? It seemed like no matter where they turned, their ending was never happy—even the short-lived bliss they'd found in each other's arms was just that: short. It never lasted. The sun always came out the next day. And revealed the smudged makeup, party stains, and stupid dreams of the night before.

One of them always decided that the night before was a mistake. Or for revenge. Or didn't mean anything…

When really, it meant everything.

God, his life was a joke.

Chuck Bass. Bad-boy incarnate. Different girl every night. Cocky, conceited, and a pain in the ass. Knew everyone—everyone who mattered, at least. Drinking and gambling and smoking his life away. Everything was a game for a bored, lonely little rich boy to play.

And wasn't his daddy proud?

Chuck closed his eyes, unwilling to even think about his father.

Who the hell was he kidding? Bad-boy? Different girls? If he was being truthful—which he hardly ever was, even to himself—but if Chuck was actually being honest, then he'd have to admit that much of his former lifestyle had ended nearly a year ago. The first night he'd spent with Blair had changed him, even though he hadn't realized it at the time. Mr. I-don't-have-a-care-in-the-world-it-is-my-play-thing was sucker punched in the gut with something deadly and unforeseen.

Butterflies.

And they still lived on, no matter how many times he'd tried to saturate them with scotch or freeze them with the ice around his heart.

It was unavoidable, laughable, even, but true.

And through all the games and manipulations and unwillingness to admit his feelings, deep down Chuck just wanted something real. Not a game. Something honest. He felt rather strange thinking it, but it was true.

When he'd asked Blair to say those three effing words, he should have realized that she would take it as a challenge, when really, it wasn't. He was just asking. True, he'd claimed to be "raising the stakes" but it was just a metaphor.

He wanted to stand on solid ground with her for once. No more playing around. No more games.

But apparently they could never break the rules.

Chuck sighed, taking one last look at the city below him. His upper lip curled in an involuntary sneer. Brooklyn. Really? Maybe it was the setting's fault they hadn't been able to say it… It was a hostile environment, after all. Not worthy of either him or Blair. Especially Blair.

God, why had they met on top of this stupid gallery? Not only was Brooklyn one of the worst New York boroughs, but it also reminded him of a certain amateur writer who loved playing the innocent card and also carried a burning judgment of all things Upper East Side. Ugh, he didn't even want to _think _about Cabbage Patch. Why had Blair asked him to meet her on top of Hum-Drum Humphrey's dad's art gallery anyway? Not only was it beneath both of them, but the setting of the roof certainly lured one to throw caution to the wind and take matters into one's own hands. Not in matters of love, unfortunately. But the enticement to leap from the railing down to the merciless streets below was especially tempting.

Chuck headed for the door that led from the roof, sick of the whole evening.

God he needed to get out of here. He wondered what would happen the next time he and Blair met. Would she try and pretend nothing had happened? He knew he couldn't. Somehow he felt that tonight couldn't just be brushed under the rug and forgotten. It was too big. Too many words…hadn't been spoken.

Chuck strode down the flights in the stairwell, the methodic rhythm of his expensive shoes on the cheap concrete stairs soothing his overactive brain. The first thing he'd do when he got to this limo was pour himself a scotch. And the first thing he'd do when he got to the Palace was roll a joint. He need a buzz—preferably one so strong he could barely sit up—if he was going to survive this night. Chuck tried to smirk in expectation but his lips barely managed a grimace.

He had to get Blair out of his head. And disappointment out of his system. At least for the time being.

"Hey! Chuck!" a nauseatingly familiar voice called. "Hey, wait a second!"

Chuck continued down the steps. He did not want to deal with Brooklyn right now. Not after the night he'd just had. He wouldn't be responsible for his actions if Dan got too close.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't hear me," Dan's annoying voice whined.

Chuck paused on his descent. "I heard you," he answered bitingly. He glanced up at Dan, who stood at the top of the flight. "I just chose to ignore you."

"Well, don't. Because, what just happened—with you and Blair—" Dan gestured up to roof.

"Is none of your business," Chuck interrupted. What the fuck? What did Brooklyn know about him and Blair's meeting on the roof? Was Dan stalking him now, still determined to write that pathetic story?

He could barely look at Humphrey's insufferable face without anger burning in his stomach. No one used Chuck Bass...and lived to tell about it. Chuck Bass used other people.

He had decided to play a little game with Humphrey, see if he could be amusing, and at first Dan's wide-eyed wonder and endless questions had, predictably, put a damper on the evening. But a few more meetings and Chuck hadn't been so disgusted—especially when Brooklyn had punched that other guy in the bar. Chuck may have had all the things money could buy, but if he was being honest—what the fuck was with that word lately?—then he'd have to admit that he couldn't punch worth shit. His memory hadn't been lying; Dan actually could deliver a nice right hook. And when they'd been in that jail cell, and all Brooklyn could do was moan about his stupid dad, Chuck hadn't been able to stop the pangs of envy from choking him. Just thinking about that scene in the cell made him want to down a bottle of scotch. Chuck Bass was envious? Of Dan Humphrey? What was the world coming to? And he hadn't been able to stop himself from talking—the words just bubbled up. It had sort of been worth it to see Dan's face when he'd revealed one of the many how's and why's that Bart hated him. But it had been a mistake. Chuck should have known. Open yourself up and get cut. Reveal your weakness and be prepared to be wounded. Even Humphrey—or perhaps especially Humphrey, that Brooklyn snake—couldn't say no to sniffing out advantage in every possible situation.

What the hell had he been thinking? Baring part of his soul to Dan Humphrey? Of course it would bite him in the ass. He should have known Cabbage Patch had an ulterior motive—who didn't when they talked to Chuck Bass? He just hadn't dreamed it would be because Dan was writing a story about him. An honest to God effing story. By the lamest fiction writer in Brooklyn. Chuck Bass becomes Charlie Trout. Signature scarf becomes signature neck tie. But other than that, everything was the same…he even drank scotch and answered the "And who are you?" with a smirking "I'm Charlie Trout."

How could he have been so stupid? It would have been funny if it hadn't hit so close to home. "Get his secrets! Find out what makes him tick!" A damaged character, was he? What the fuck?! His life was none of Humphrey-Dumphrey's fucking business.

And neither was his relationship with Blair. Or the disappointment on the roof.

"No, it is, actually," Dan insisted, stuttering in a way that Chuck was sure his step-sister found charming, but which Chuck found incredibly irritating. "Look. I don't know how you feel about her, but I do know how she feels about you. And—she was going to tell you, until I stopped her."

Chuck just stared at him, trying to figure out what the dunce was actually saying.

What did he mean, he _knew_ how Blair felt about him?

What did he mean he _stopped_ her?

The look on his face must have prompted Dan to explain.

"She—I've been giving her advice, about how to, I guess, 'win you back.' Serena thought it was a good idea, for Blair to get a guy's opinion…but, apparently it wasn't."

Dan was starting to look uncomfortable from the death glare he was receiving.

"Chuck, look. I—I know you were mad about the story I was writing—but I wasn't trying to—I didn't—"

"Last time, you tried to use me, Humphrey," Chuck finally whispered. "This time, you've stuck your obnoxious nose into my private affairs. You're going to wish you hadn't."

Dan, leaning forward, raised his hands palm-up. "Hey, I was trying to help before. And I did—Blair was on her way to the roof when I told her to be careful. I only pulled out because Vanessa told me what you and Blair did to her. I know you guys like playing your sick little games, but—"

"Don't talk about what you don't understand," Chuck drawled. Great, just what he needed: Vanessa to spill more about Chuck's life to Dan freaking Humphrey. "It was a game. Vanessa played along like everyone else. Why else would we have deigned to include her?"

It was true. There must have been a reason Blair had decided to go after that little troll. He wondered what Vanessa had on Queen B—but it was obvious Blair had taken care of it. That little scene at his parents' house-warming party where she shooed Vanessa-the-pawn away and told him she'd be waiting up in her room was evidence enough. Blair never moved on unless she got her way.

He had felt a little guilty about using Vanessa. Not the using part, more because she had trusted him. Someone truly trusting Chuck Bass was a strange sighting on the Upper East Side. But Vanessa had changed her opinion so fast. True, it had taken a second try, but all the same, she had trusted him. And so had the owner of that old bar. He almost felt worse about letting the bar owner down. Trust was something foreign to Chuck unless it was followed by the word "fund." But it, surprisingly, had felt good.

And Vanessa had apologized. No one apologized on the Upper East Side. Not unless they wanted to be blogged on Gossip Girl as a pansy-ass blubbering idiot.

The way she had treated him was so strange, so new, compared to how everyone else—including Blair—treated him that Chuck may have gotten a little ahead of himself when he'd upped the stakes in Blair's bedroom. But he was sick of her playing games with his heart. Why couldn't Blair trust him like Vanessa had? He knew he'd messed up in the past, but wasn't it obvious how he felt? He'd changed. Couldn't Blair see that and trust him for once?

Who was he to talk? He didn't trust Blair enough to get past "I…"

And apparently neither did she.

But if what Humphrey said was true, then Blair _had _been willing to stop playing. She had meant to tell him how she felt on the roof. She had meant to say those three words.

And she would have, if fucking Brooklyn hadn't interfered.

"Please," Dan countered. "Vanessa told me everything. And I don't understand how you and Blair can take pleasure out of embarrassing people. Look. You know what?" he shook his head, "I don't even know why I bothered to tell you anything. Serena tried to make me feel guilty, but obviously it was a wasted effort. How can I possibly feel guilty over stopping you two from—I don't even know."

"No, Humphrey, you don't know. Anything." Chuck felt the sneer spread over his face. "And if you stopped trying to integrate yourself into my world, then maybe you'd stop stepping on my toes."

"Look—I told you, that story—"

"That pathetic piece of writing is just one of the many reasons you're going to wish you never set foot at St. Jude's," Chuck broke in.

It was Humphrey's time to go down. He'd gone one step too far this time.

Sucking up to Chuck and following him around under false pretenses had been bad. Cozying up to his best friend was even worse. Chuck still felt an incredible amount of jealously when he thought about Nate. Nate had abandoned him for Hum-Drum Humphrey. Perhaps to the outsider, Chuck's game at Yale had been a little juvenile—but he didn't understand Nate's reaction. So he'd pointed those stupid Skull and Bone members in the direction of Dan instead of Nate; how could that be taken as anything but having his best friend's back and getting a little revenge at the same time? Why did Nate suddenly think Chuck was in the wrong and that Brooklyn was "actually pretty cool"? Gossip girl had even blogged that Nate and Dan had been spotted playing soccer together that afternoon.

How could Dan fool so many people? Apparently his charms even worked on Blair… God, why had she listened to Brooklyn's advice? Hadn't the thought crossed her mind that Vanessa would smear them both because of their little game? A humiliated girl will say a lot of things—Chuck would know. And who was Dan more likely to listen to: his ex-girlfriend Serena who was best friends and step-sister of the two involved, or Vanessa, his long-standing friend from his oh-so-sweet and innocent childhood?

But it wasn't entirely Blair's fault that she'd reneged from saying those three precious words. Dan was to blame for that, too. Chuck knew Blair's self-esteem wasn't the highest on the market. God knew both of them were in the same boat as far as parents went: controlling, uncaring adults who criticized as frequently said "hello" and were often gone for long periods of time on business trips. And then there was Blair's whole perfection obsession, Queen Bee mania, unwavering pride, personal body issues, and denial of things not going according to plan. One word from a supposed friend and even the strongest determination was ready to topple like a house of cards.

Why did Brooklyn have to mess up everything? He'd meddled too far this time. Chuck, Nate, Blair. He was going to pay.

"There are many other offenses at your door, Humphrey," Chuck continued. "And you just don't know when to stop." He started walking back down the stairs. "I'd tell you watch your back, but then you'd be prepared."

He left Dan standing there like the gaping fish that he was.

As he gave his driver instructions and got into his limo, Chuck took a bracing breath. A drink would have been nice, but he knew he needed all his faculties if he was going to visit a certain pent house.

Dan Humphrey was going down. And Chuck knew just the conniving bitch to plan Brooklyn's social annihilation with: the love of his life, Blair Waldorf.


	3. Back to Blair's Bedroom

**A/N:** Wow. So sorry about the wait. I couldn't find time to write/perfect this chapter before, what with Thanksgiving and finals and, of course, crying over Gossip Girl's 2x13 episode. So here's some well deserved CB angstyfluff! Yay!

_ALSO: I deleted the last two lines of the previous chapter. _I didn't like them. _Suspensegirl_ pointed out that they led one to believe that Chuck would only say those infamous three effing words in order to manipulate Blair into helping him destroy Dan--and since that wasn't where I decided the story was heading/heads in this concluding chapter, I decided to change the end of the Ch 2. So...yeah. If you're confused, then read this author's note. Or click back to Ch 2. If you're a new reader... welcome! And ignore everything I just said. :) Enjoy!

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Chapter Three: Back to Blair's Bedroom

* * *

_Can't we give ourselves one more chance?_

_Why can't we give love that one more chance?_

--"Under Pressure" by David Bowie & Queen

* * *

Blair sat in front of her vanity mirror, staring at herself miserably. What the hell was wrong with them? They'd had a golden opportunity to admit their feelings on the roof and they'd fucked it up. Like always.

If you looked up "Chuck and Blair" in the dictionary, it would say "see complicated."

Blair sighed, slowly taking out her earrings. It had been worse than she'd imagined. She hadn't even been able to tell Serena how bad it had been, just mumbled "disaster" and ran sobbing to her cab.

But she was done crying.

At least for tonight.

Her door opened slowly and she turned to see the very object of her musings standing in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes cast in shadow.

What the fuck?

"Are you here to gloat?" she asked bitingly. What was he doing here? Had he come to rub it in? Congratulations, Blair, you can't voice how you feel about anything! I knew you wouldn't be able to do it!

"Over what?" he asked.

"Well you won," she said grudgingly. "Pop the champagne." Her throat stung and she felt a rush in her sinuses that ended behind her eyes. Stop it, she told herself. She was _so_ not going to cry over this again—especially not in front of him.

"I didn't win anything," Chuck returned softly.

Did she really think that? What he wanted was for her to finally tell him how she really felt—how could he "win" otherwise? Hell, he didn't even want to play the game anymore, not if it meant they'd constantly be in this tug-of-war of scathing remarks, feelings, and he-said/she-said.

Blair swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes. Her face looked puffy from crying. Chuck felt a pang somewhere inside at the thought of her crying over him.

"Then why does it feel like I lost?" she whispered. She couldn't stop her voice from breaking.

He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets, and fully entered the room. Biting the inside of his cheek, Chuck cast his gaze up at the ceiling.

He felt like he had lost, too. Was that their destiny? Both of them neck-in-neck and the end result…nothing? A standstill? He didn't want that to be the outcome—he knew what he wanted—he wanted her—but he didn't know (alright, he _knew_) how to get her, he just wasn't willing to put himself out there. Not if she wasn't.

Except…she had. Or would have. If Brooklyn hadn't interfered.

"Why did you take advice from Dan Humphrey?" he finally managed.

Blair started, taken aback. "How did—"

"He stalked me in the stairwell," Chuck interrupted. His eyes landed on Blair, sitting there with a confused furrow marring her brow. He knew she didn't understand the subject change, but he had come here for a reason, blood still burning and ears still ringing from what Humphrey had told him.

"Didn't it cross your mind that troll-faced Vanessa would spill all about her little humiliation at our hands?" he asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "There's no love lost between us and Brooklyn. Did you really think he'd help you?" He didn't mean to, but his voice ended on a snarl.

Blair felt her anger rising. "You told me to chase you," she let out. "Serena thought—"

"Since when do you follow Serena's plans, Queen B?"

Blair's face hardened and she stood up, disliking the fact that he was talking down to her. She couldn't stand someone wielding power over her, least of all Chuck Bass. And Queen B? More like the Prime-fucking-minister. Thanks a lot, Basshole.

"I was at a loss, Chuck! I didn't know what to do—"

"Don't tell me you couldn't come up with anything—"

"I've never chased anyone before—"

"Please, you chased Nate for years—"

"You and Nate are completely different!" she cried.

Chuck blinked. He opened his mouth to retort, but found nothing to say.

Blair sighed, shaking her head. "I guess you were right. Again." She met his gaze, daring him to comment on her concession. "I was desperate." She let out a humorless laugh, remembering that scene at the bar. "His advice wasn't even that good at first."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "He told you to empty your drink on my pants?"

"No! To make myself unavoidable."

She inwardly cringed just thinking about it. It had been fun actually, putting herself in Chuck's way, making eyes at him at school, teasing him as they rode in his limo, showing up unannounced in his house… She had always excelled at flirting, especially with Chuck. They collided and sparked and made the earth shake when they were barely in the same room together for five seconds. And chasing him had been exhilarating and dangerous and she even felt out of her element, but in a good way. Trying to find that chink in his armor where he'd relent had been a challenge she couldn't say no to.

But ultimately, it hadn't been enough. Just like she knew it wouldn't be from the start.

"No matter what Serena said," Chuck muttered, "Dan Humphrey has no right sticking his high-cheek-boned face into my business."

"Your business?" It was Blair's turn to raise an eyebrow.

Chuck simply stared at her, his face unreadable. When he didn't continue, she bit her lip.

"I... I get that you're still ticked off about him and Nate—"

"No, you don't," he said firmly.

The confused look on her face made Chuck realize he had to tell her everything about his embarrassing encounter with Dan. Especially if he wanted her help in bringing Hum-Drum Humphrey down. He had vaguely hoped to avoid this, but it appeared to be inevitable. He sighed and sat down on her bed, hoping this part would finish quickly. If there was one thing Chuck Bass hated, it was revealing his mistakes, especially to those who could hold them over his head in torture. Weakness was something Chuck liked to pretend didn't exist.

"During fashion week," he began, "he asked me to 'take him out of his comfort zone' and show him the real New York."

"Let me guess," Blair said softly, sitting down beside him, "drugs, booze, and women?"

He took in the small smile tugging at her lips and felt a shiver run down his spine. Suddenly he could breathe a little easier. This was Blair he was talking to.

"You know me well," he whispered.

The smile spread.

"I try," she replied.

After a moment, Chuck averted his gaze, inhaling through his nose, and continued. "I was bored, so I humored him. We got into a bar fight." He waved his hand, as if things such things happened everyday, which, as he was Chuck Bass, they did. "And when we waited in the jail cell for bail, I let slip a few things…"

He tried to go on, but his throat had closed. Wordlessly, Chuck reached into his jacket pocket and shoved that loathed piece of paper in her face.

"What—?"

Once her hand closed over it he abruptly stood up, unable to sit there mindlessly as she read the poorly-written imitation of his life, harshly critiqued in bright red.

Why had he even stopped home to pick it up before heading to Blair's penthouse? Perhaps he knew he wouldn't be able to put himself out there again, bare his soul over the same secret sin twice in little over three weeks. Rejection or betrayal was too real a concept for him to face a second time over the same subject, especially from her.

But she deserved to know it all.

Chuck swallowed hard and faced the window.

"Turns out he didn't have to fish for my secrets," he said bitterly. "I told him…I told him the truth. I killed my mother."

There was no response.

"She died giving birth to me. That's why Bart's always hated me." He let out a short, self-derisive laugh. "Well, at least, that was the first and unforgivable offense."

He stood there, staring at her lacy curtains, straining to hear her reaction on the bed behind him.

Fuck. There was nothing. His palms began to itch. What had he been thinking? Why had he opened his mouth? Chuck's stomach churned.

Just when he was reconsidering his impulsive baring of his soul and thought seriously about whipping around and tearing that cursed piece of paper from her hands, Blair spoke.

"He was _writing_ about you?" she asked incredulously.

Chuck didn't turn around, seemingly unable to look her in the face.

"He—he was _using_ you?"

Blair heard the paper crinkle and looked down in distant astonishment to see her hands gripping the story and shaking.

Dan Humphrey had used Chuck Bass, the mother of all users. He'd used Chuck—and _he_ had the gall to warn _her_ about playing games? He thought he was the one to call down from his moral high-horse and accuse _Chuck_ of playing games? Dan Humphrey was the one playing games! He was the one sidling up to them with that innocent, wide-eyed look and then slapping their misplaced trust away as easily as if he was swatting a fly.

And while her heart burned over the words Chuck had just uttered, she knew that that conversation could wait. She'd always known Chuck felt conflicted over his father, but this… While it explained so much, Blair knew that he'd only revealed it in order to tell her about Dan Humphrey and his unbelievably atrocious Brooklyn ways—and frankly, that was what Blair was fixated on for the moment. Because her reaction over Dan was what Chuck needed right now.

What the fuck had Serena ever seen in him? And _why _had Blair actually listened to her and taken his advice? Advice from Dan Humphrey?! Ew!

What the fuck?!

"Who the hell does Dan Humphrey think he is?" she let out, finding herself standing, staring at the paper, unable to rip her eyes away from _Find out what makes him tick!_

Had Dan even meant what he'd said before, about her being careful? Was it all revenge in some convoluted _Brooklyn_ way that made him feel like the tragic, maligned hero? Was he trying to get back at Chuck over the story? Or at her for some basically forgotten game with Jenny? Or just because she was involved with Chuck? Or because Vanessa had whined to him about the game that _she'd_ instigated with her blackmail—something Blair highly doubted V had mentioned when relaying the "facts" to her dear bff.

Or was Dan just toying with them?

"What a self-righteous douche bag!" she cried. She snorted. "Charlie Trout? That's the most unoriginal, asinine thing I've ever fucking heard." He was a terrible writer! Who the hell was he trying to kid? That snub-nosed _Hazel_ could write a better story than this. And hadn't he ever heard about that little thing called fiction? Sure people wrote from life all the time—but they didn't rip off other people's life stories, create the dumbest, most transparent fake names ever and then dub it their own original work. Unless they were begging to be sued.

What a fucking hypocrite. Hated the Upper East Side life, did he? Thought Serena got everything handed to her on a silver platter? Well, he had no qualms about using his own measly connections to his advantage. First using Chuck, then buddying up to Nate, then spinning her around in circles?

Who the hell did Cabbage Patch think he was? One of them?

Blair felt the rush that came from plotting revenge burst in her stomach and run with fervent, fiery shivers through her veins. She _was_ the Queen B. She'd reclaim her throne over this. And Brooklyn was definitely going down. It would be _so_ easy. A smile started on her lips and spread as she imagined all the ways to make him pay for weaseling his way into their business and wrecking havoc.

She bit her lip in anticipation, her eyes still lingering over the paper, titled with a date (how cliché could he be?).

"Were you planning something drastic?" she crooned in a low voice. "Or would you prefer to start out with something deadly but slow—?"

Blair was cut off by Chuck's mouth, which crashed against hers hungrily, his lips hard, his breath hot. He couldn't help himself, not when she was getting so heated up, damning that Brooklyn upstart and starting to talk revenge. Desire pooled in his groin just at the sight of that bitchy smile.

The paper she had been holding fluttered to the floor, forgotten as their passion temporarily blotted out memory. Blair felt the fire within her rage with a roaring heat. Opening her mouth eagerly beneath his, she allowed him entrance, which he took with a demanding gusto, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and making her body melt. One of his hands clutched the back of her neck; the other firmly grasped her ass, bringing her body flush against his. Blair let out a strangled moan, burying her hands in his hair as the kiss deepened.

What had she even been saying?

Chuck broke away, breathing hard, turning his face into her neck, trying to control himself. Blair trembled in his arms, panting, her mind dazed, her eyes dreamy.

They had to talk about this before it went any further.

"Chuck," she whispered after a moment, still clinging to him, unwilling to unwrap her arms from around his neck. "What are we doing?"

He swallowed, feeling her heart beat against his. The scent of her neck made him want to cave in.

"Just because we haven't said those three words doesn't mean they aren't true," he said softly. He pulled back and took in her flushed face, eyes still dark with desire. He hesitated, doubt making his stomach clench. "But are we ready, Blair? It would just be a matter of time before we messed it all up."

This conversation was heading serious fast.

His grip relaxed but he didn't let go—he couldn't deny himself the trifling pleasure he got from simply holding her. "Can you really see us acting like a normal couple? Chuck and Blair going to the movies? Chuck and Blair holding hands?"

"We don't have to do those things," she insisted, her serious tone matching his. "We can do the things we like."

"What we like is this. The game." The only problem was, neither of them knew—or could control—the outcome. They both required the complete and utter surrender of their adversaries, but neither was willing to bend.

Blair pursed her lips thoughtfully. "While I will admit that having you as an opponent is a challenge that is undeniably thrilling, we both know that what we like most is playing with other people," she said. "Especially when we team up. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that why you came here?" She raised an eyebrow knowingly. "To play with Dan?"

Chuck met her eyes. It was true, but…

"I need you. I want you," he admitted. He leaned in and said in a deathly whisper, "And I always get what I want."

"Well so do I," Blair returned. "I'm always a winner." Her eyes searched his, asking him to…

"Maybe it's not always about winning." Chuck leaned his forehead against hers and let out a sigh. Her eyes fluttered shut and he thought about how right she felt in his arms.

Fuck it. To hell with rules. Weren't they made to be broken?

"I love you," he whispered.

It seemed fair. Hadn't she asked him to say those words first?

Blair didn't move. She felt like if she did, if she so much as breathed, the moment would shatter into the dream it almost certainly was. Had he just…? She slowly pulled back, letting out a breath.

Chuck opened his eyes to see Blair glowing. Her face was radiant, her eyes sparkled, traveling over his face, kissing it with the look of utter happiness he had so often seen directed at Nate. Only now, to him, it was different, deeper somehow. Brighter. Truer. She had never looked more beautiful. The moment had never been so perfect.

Her lips parted.

"I love you, too," she said breathlessly.

They looked at each other, eyes locked, the weight having finally been lifted.

And then they were kissing, their mouths moving together, not desperately, but with the knowledge that this time it was for real, that this time they had finally admitted their feelings and were in perfect harmony with each other. Together they backed up until they fell on the bed, a tangle of limbs, discarding clothing as they went, touching and gasping and marveling over the feelings that had just been voiced and reciprocated.

And then they were one, moving on the bed together in that age old rhythm of love, their bodies straining, seeking, giving fulfillment. Blair gasped as the pace picked up, her hips rising to meet his deep thrusts, until she reached the peak with a cry that brought him over the edge, and he came with a deep groan against her golden throat.

In the aftermath they lay together on the bed. Chuck listened to her heart beating in time with his. Blair snuggled into his side, and gazed up at him, unable to stop smiling.

"Dan Humphrey is so going down," she said absently, running her fingers through his hair.

Chuck gave her a look. "You're thinking about Brooklyn at a time like this?" he groaned. He flipped her over on to her back, a smirk hovering on his lips, and leaned in, blocking her view of everything else until he was the only thing she could see—her whole world. "I must not be on my game."

Blair let out a giggle. She brushed a kiss across his mouth, then pulled back. "I thought this wasn't a game?" she simpered sweetly, letting out a true laugh when his hands gripped her waist and squeezed. "No, really… I'm merely musing about Humphrey's total social destruction," she relented, her eyes taking on her haughty look of queenly, bitchy, revenge. "If he thought his little game would keep us apart—"

She was interrupted by his lips.

"—he doesn't even know the rules—"

Chuck met her mouth again, this time with a moan.

"—not when we're on the same side," she whispered.

And then she kissed him back.

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The End. Reviews are a lovely thing. :)


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